


Grace Notes

by Leela



Series: Music Under the Skin [3]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Isaac Carpenter (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Community: TJRBB, Flogging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Isaac wants in that moment is to go to his knees and put himself in Tommy's hands. To know what it's like to be taken down and brought back up with love and care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace Notes

**Author's Note:**

> **Betas:** Minxie, Aislinn, Eeyore9990
> 
>  **A/N:** This is the third and final part in the [Music Under the Skin](http://archiveofourown.org/series/20584) series. It stands on its own though and can be read without the earlier parts.
> 
> So many thanks to qafmaniac, who put up with my crazy work schedule and ridiculous delays in getting drafts to her and still managed to create absolutely gorgeous art and a spectacular mix for this story. Seriously, people, she's just one of the best.
> 
>  **Link to art master post:** [LJ](http://qafmaniac.livejournal.com/218474.html) / [DW](http://qafmaniac.dreamwidth.org/283587.html)
> 
> As for the best, my betas are amazing. Minxie kept me on the not-straight and decidedly not-narrow and helped me with some things at the very heart of this story. Aislinn just makes every story she touches that much better and identified problems and provided solutions just when I needed them. Eey is one of my brain twins, and I always feel better about a story when it has her special touch. Jo, as always, was there with her ideas whenever I needed to talk something through. And all of them kept me writing and encouraged me when I wasn't sure I had the energy or inspiration.

Tommy likes to think of himself as a patient guy. Give him a guitar, his phone, and a few decent movies or TV shows, and he can sit and hang out forever. But the last three weeks have taxed his patience way past whatever limits he had. Why the hell Ravi decided that this was a good time for The Heartless to go out on a mini-tour of the Pacific Northwest is beyond him.

He gives one of the tuning pegs on his guitar a vicious twist and tests the string again. Much better. Head down, he drags his eyes away from where Isaac is bent over, finishing set up on his drum kit, and focuses on tuning his guitar for the songs he'll be playing in a couple of hours. 

"You could move slower," Ravi says, cutting into Tommy's thoughts. 

"Yeah," Tommy agrees. "I could." And he runs through a riff from Country, blowing a few notes just to fuck with Ravi.

But Ravi doesn't react the way Tommy expects. He gives Tommy a considering look, then jerks his head in the direction of the bar and stomps off the tiny stage. 

A sigh from Isaac pulls Tommy's attention away from Ravi. He racks his guitar, making sure it's not going to fall, then goes over to Isaac. Needing to do something, to ease whatever was fucking up Isaac's pre-show zen, Tommy steps in behind him, wraps his arms around Isaac's waist, and rests his chin on Isaac's shoulder. 

"I can't take much more of this," Isaac says, after leaning back into Tommy. "We're stuck in a van with Ravi all day, sharing a room with him at night, and it just keeps getting worse and worse." 

"It's not you," Tommy says.

Isaac twists his head around and makes a face at Tommy. "Duh," he says. "If it was about me, I'd have fixed things with him in Eugene."

Not knowing what to say, Tommy kisses Isaac. It's nothing major, a brief press of their mouths and a quick swipe of his tongue over Isaac's lips, but the contact and having Isaac in his arms grounds Tommy. He almost feels up to dealing with whatever has got Ravi's nose so far out of joint. 

"Talk to him," Isaac whispers, then gives Tommy another chaste kiss.

"Yeah, okay," Tommy murmurs against Isaac's lips. "I'll give it a shot."

He holds onto Isaac for a few seconds longer, until Isaac pushes him away and mutters about needing to finish getting his kit sorted already. Tommy gives Isaac a swat on the ass and takes a couple of steps backwards before turning and going over to join Ravi. 

"Here." Ravi pushes a PBR across the bar as Tommy perches on the stool next to him.

"Thanks." 

The bottle's cold, condensation starting to bead on the sides. Tommy pulls it towards him and takes a quick drink. They sit there in silence for a few seconds, bottles in hand. Ravi drums a beat against the wooden counter. Tommy begins to pick at the label on his bottle, working at it carefully because, one of these days, he's going to be able to get it off in one piece. 

A cymbal tings, reminding Tommy why he's over here and what he's supposed to be doing. He cuts Ravi a sideways glance and says, "So."

"So." Ravi takes a drink from his PBR. "Justin says we have a problem."

"Ya think?"

"That's not helping."

"And, like, your attitude is?"

Ravi gusts out a sigh. "It's not easy, you know. What you have with Isaac? That's what I wanted."

"And somehow that's my fault? Deal with your shit, man." 

"I could touch him," Ravi says, as if Tommy hadn't opened his mouth, "and he'd drop to his knees, pretty as anyone I've ever seen. All that lean strength and yet he was the one submitting." He sighs again. "I miss being needed."

This time Tommy turns to look at Ravi, sees the dark circles under his eyes and the tension in his hunched shoulders. "You gotta learn how to do it properly, you know. Even if Isaac was interested, there's like no way I'd let him submit to you again." 

"Let?" Ravi snorts with derision. "As if you could keep Isaac from me if he wanted it."

Tommy's fingernail slips, and he tears a strip off the label. He tosses it away in disgust and thunks the bottle down on the bar. "If he really wanted you, I'd make sure that you got proper training before he went to his knees for you."

"But he doesn't," Ravi says, a bitter edge to his voice. "He's got you now, and he barely gives me a second glance."

"I love him." The words are out of Tommy's mouth before he can think about them. It's not as if they'll make anything better, but he needs for Ravi to understand that it's not anything simple for him either. That he's as caught up in whatever's happening between them as Isaac is. 

"I figured that out weeks ago."

Tommy flips him off.

Ravi's laugh is sour. "What the fuck are we going to do?"

"Other than play tonight?" Tommy shrugs. "Maybe we should just, like, call a truce until we get back to LA?"

"Easy for you to say." Mouth twisting in impatience, Ravi shoves his hair back out of his face.

"Yeah, I know," Tommy says.

They're quiet again for a few seconds. The only sounds in the room come from the stage behind them: the rattles, hums, and occasional riffs that come from a band setting up equipment, turning it on, and testing it. Tommy works on stripping the rest of the label off the bottle. When that's done, he slides off the stool and stands in the space between it and Ravi. 

He can help, he thinks. He knows how Ravi feels, what it's like to have all those needs and not know what to do with them or how to handle them. 

"Hey," he says, touching Ravi's forearm. Tension radiates from the taut muscles. "There's this place, you know. Seventh Heaven. I'll get you the info. One of the bartenders, Sammy, will like help you, okay? Tell him you need what he gave me."

Ravi gives Tommy a short, sharp nod. "All right," he says.

And that's all it takes for the tension between them to ease back down to a bearable level. It's not going to last, Tommy knows that, but it's enough for now.

It's dark outside. The streetlights shine off the puddles as the van turns a corner too fast. The tires slide on the slick pavement. Isaac smiles when he realizes where they are.

"Hey, wake up." He kisses Tommy's temple. Tommy isn't that heavy, but Isaac still misses having Tommy's weight pressed against his side when he straightens up and stretches. 

"Hey." Tommy covers a yawn. "Where are we?"

"Almost home," Isaac says. "They're dropping us off first." 

"Dumping you out on your asses, you mean." Justin snickers from the back seat. 

Isaac gives him the finger and grins at him. 

"All right, children," Ravi calls from the driver's seat, "the parking gods are on our side today. Got a spot right in front. Let's get this shit unloaded and get on our way again before someone notices we haven't put any money in the meter."

Isaac crawls out of the van after Tommy, shivering and zipping up his jacket when the cold drizzle hits his skin. They head straight for the back, where Ross is already unlocking the trailer. 

"I'll just stay by the van," Ravi says as he hands a guitar case to Tommy. "Make sure no one steals our shit or tows the van while you're hauling your stuff upstairs."

After that, it's the usual lugging and pushing and joking while they get instrument cases, amps, and the rest into the building, up the stairs and to their apartment. It takes a few trips, even with four of them, and at the end, Isaac finds himself alone with Ravi. 

"Hey," Isaac says, hefting his suitcase out of the trailer. It feels weird to talk to him, but even weirder to leave without saying anything at all. 

Ravi doesn't respond. He's focused on locking the trailer, fighting with the lock that has to be in just the right position to close. Going to join him, Isaac makes sure the roller bag isn't standing in a puddle before he reaches over and holds one side in place. 

His eyes wide with shock, Ravi's head jerks around and he stares at Isaac. Then one side of his mouth curves up in a lopsided smile as he snicks the lock into place. "Thanks," he says, slapping the door of the trailer. "I won't be sorry to turn in this piece of shit." 

"We've toured with worse," Isaac says. "Remember the van we rented for the trip around Arizona and New Mexico?"

"Hell, yes. I thought the fumes from that thing were going to kill us before we made it home." Ravi's lopsided smile becomes a full-blown grin. "Cheap though." 

They laugh for a second or two, until the memory of what happened the one night they had their own motel room sideswipes Isaac. Drumming a beat into his thigh, he says, "We can't keep doing this, you know?"

Ravi nods and turns to lean back against the trailer. A darker damp patch spreads over the sleeve of his grey jacket. "I liked you," he says. "Really fucking liked you." 

"I know." Isaac has to resist the urge to brush Ravi's damp curls away from his face and tuck them behind his ear. That would only screw things up that much more. He shrugs and reaches for the handle of his roller bag. "I'll see ya around," he says. 

"Of course."

They stand there and stare at each other for a second, then Ravi blows him a kiss. "Tell that guy of yours to take care of you the way I couldn't, okay? Otherwise, I'll come over and kick his ass."

There's nothing to say to that but, "Okay." And then Isaac hauls the roller bag up the curb and heads for the apartment building. He hesitates at the entrance and looks back. Ravi's sitting in the driver's seat again with the door open and one leg outside, getting wet. He's staring out the windshield, seemingly paying no attention to Isaac. 

"You can't help him," Isaac tells himself, and a realization rises up inside him. He doesn't want to help Ravi. Not in any way that means getting involved with him again. All he wants in that moment is to go to his knees and put himself in Tommy's hands. To know what it's like to be taken down and brought back up with love and care. 

Turning around, he pushes open the door and heads upstairs.

After saying goodbye to Justin and Ross, Tommy heads for the window of the music room. He pulls the blinds apart and looks down on the van. Ravi and Isaac are there, close enough to touch, to be touched. Jealousy and possessiveness rise up in Tommy when Ravi blows Isaac a kiss.

He rests his forehead against the cool damp glass and closes his eyes, unable to watch what happens next. When he opens them again, Justin and Ross are piling into the van and Isaac is nowhere to be seen. He straightens up and pushes his hair off his forehead then presses his fingertips against his skull hard enough to make it ache. When he releases the pressure, the relief is dizzying.

Feelings are piled up inside him, and he has no fucking words to put to them. He wants and he needs and, even with that, he knows that he should be able to let Isaac go if that's what Isaac wants. But Tommy can't do that. He's not that nice, not that good, not that strong, no matter how much he'd like to be. 

Wrapping his arms around his waist, hugging himself, Tommy spins around and finds himself looking into Isaac's eyes. "Hi," Tommy says.

"Hi." Isaac's voice is as soft, as gentle as the look in his eyes. 

Before Tommy can move or work out something smarter to say, Isaac crosses the room and leans against him. Tommy unhooks his arms from around himself, slips them around Isaac's waist, and holds him tight. He slides one hand up Isaac's back and cups the nape of his neck. 

"We're home," Isaac murmurs into Tommy's collarbone. 

_Home_. Tommy blinks. "I haven't—" 

Raising his head, Isaac looks into Tommy's eyes. "You could," he says. 

Tommy starts to respond, then closes his mouth. He'd thought and dreamed of all sorts of things while drifting in and out of sleep in the last hour of the drive. This hadn't been one of them. And he doesn't want to say the wrong words and fuck it up. 

"You don't—" 

"Yeah, I do," Tommy says, and kisses him. 

Isaac opens up without hesitation, without holding back. He tastes of the weird ass juice shit that he drinks and the chocolate that Justin dug out of the bag full of it that he was taking home for his kids. It hadn't filled them up, but no one wanted to stop for food, not even for something as quick as a Taco Bell drive-through. They were all more than ready to be home by that point.

And there's that word again. _Home_. It's fucking huge. Tommy knows he's had one before — with his parents before he'd told one too many truths and everything had gone to shit — but it's been more years than he cares to count. Bunking in a house with a bunch of other guys, sometimes being so poor that he ended up sharing a room, totally didn't count. 

Eyes alight with a sleepy smile, Isaac starts to say, "You want to," and then he yawns so wide that his jaw cracks. 

"I want to go to bed," Tommy says, rubbing a thumb over Isaac's jaw line. "To sleep," he adds, because it's important Isaac understand that. When he takes Isaac, when he lays him out and takes him down, Tommy wants them both to be wide awake and fully aware of what's going on. 

"Don't want to sleep yet," Isaac murmurs into Tommy's collarbone. "Want to do something else."

"Tomorrow," Tommy says, and he smiles into Isaac's hair. "Tonight, I want to crawl into that awesome bed of yours, because it's been weeks and I've missed sleeping with you, you know."

They walk out of the room, arms around each other, with Isaac leaning into Tommy. They aren't paying much attention, but somehow still manage not to trip over the cases and bags that are strewn all over the floor. That Isaac doesn't complain or insist they take a few minutes to stack everything carefully, totally reassures Tommy that he's doing the right thing. 

Later, when he's lying on his side, curled around Isaac, listening to Isaac sleep, Tommy tries to figure out what it is that Isaac does to him. He gets the whole Dom/sub thing. It makes total sense to him. But this, the odd warmth that fills him in the quiet times, he's never felt anything like it before. And the weirdest thing about it? He doesn't know how he could live without it again.

Isaac wakes up to the sun shining in his eyes and Tommy sprawled all over him. Tommy's arms and legs, Tommy's head on his chest, are holding him down and it's absolutely perfect. He closes his eyes again and just drifts, his body anchored by Tommy.

Eventually, though, Isaac's bladder gets painful enough that he can't ignore it any longer. He pushes at Tommy, who mutters in his sleep and tightens his hold on Isaac. "Move," Isaac whispers, "I've gotta go." 

Mumbling something utterly incomprehensible, Tommy rolls over without waking up. Isaac slides out as quickly as he can and heads for the bathroom. Afterwards, even though he'd been intending to go to the kitchen and put on the kettle, he finds himself back at the bedroom door. 

Tommy's back on his side, facing the empty space where Isaac had been. The comforter's down around his waist, and his t-shirt is twisted up to reveal a slice of his lower back and ass. One hand is curled up on the edge of Isaac's pillow, as if he's reaching for Isaac in his sleep. Something catches in Isaac's chest, and he takes a step forward. He sways, feeling as if he's about to float away. Or down, to his knees. 

The doorjamb is solid under Isaac's hand, unmoving. He swallows and closes his eyes. Darkness rises up and surrounds him. There's peace in it, and a glimpse of a comfort that he didn't know he needed, but it's too far away. Still, he wouldn't mind getting lost in it, he thinks. Sink deeper into it, further inside himself than he's ever been before. 

And this is what Tommy can do to him when he's sleeping. That thought almost causes Isaac to lose his grip, his knees to buckle. He sucks in a breath and holds on.

"Hey, you all right there?"

Unable to trust his voice, Isaac shakes his head. 

"Come here." Tommy holds the covers open. 

"I want to," Isaac manages, but then his words drop into the darkness and disintegrate. 

After a few seconds pass without Isaac saying anything further, Tommy sits up. His voice takes on a note of command that Isaac can't resist, and he says, "Isaac, come back to bed."

Isaac's head swims a little with each wobbly step he takes. And when he reaches the bed, he half-collapses onto it and crawls over to press himself against Tommy.

"Where are you, babe?" Tommy shifts until he's lying down with Isaac on top of him, and he strokes Isaac's hair gently. 

"Nowhere," Isaac says, then realizes that that probably only makes sense to him. "Caught in the middle," he adds, hoping that helps. 

"Gonna fix that for you, okay?" Tommy's free hand slides under the hem of Isaac's wifebeater, and he lightly rubs circles on Isaac's back. "Gonna bring you out of it, and then I'm going to take you down the right way." 

Relief draws a moan out of Isaac. He smiles against Tommy's neck and kisses the stubbly skin beneath his jaw. "Please?"

Tommy rolls them over, so he's on top of Isaac, draws Isaac's hands over his head and holds them there. Isaac sighs with relief and lets himself sink into the feeling, into the warmth of knowing that there's someone to take care of him, to take him down and catch him when he falls into bliss. 

"I'm sorry," Tommy says. "I should have paid more attention to how badly you needed me to take care of you. We could have, like, gotten a motel room for one night."

"I was fine."

"That's totally not the point." 

"It is the point though. If I'd really needed you, I would have let you know." 

Tommy mutters something under his breath and shakes his head. For a minute, Isaac considers pushing him that bit further, but then he recognizes the guilt lingering around the edges of Tommy's eyes. So, he smiles up at Tommy and licks his lips. And then he gives himself over to Tommy's touch and his kiss and his strength.

They end up making way more from the Heartless tour than anyone expected. After using some of it to cover pizza and beer for the friends who help him move in with Isaac, Tommy shoves a chunk of it into his way too fucking small savings account. Most of the rest goes to pay bills, but there's still a tiny bit left for some online shopping. He and Isaac deserve something for putting up with Ravi's shit for all those weeks, after all.

The box takes four days to make it from some bumfuck town in a state Tommy couldn't place if his life depended on it. And, thank fuck, he's not only home when it arrives, but Isaac is out for the day. 

Tommy would be the first one to admit that he's not exactly handy around the house. He can do basic guitar and amp repairs — mostly because he's rarely been able to afford to pay someone else to do the work — but house shit is way out of his league. That's what he's got friends and family for, right? 

But he can't ask his dad or even Immerman to help him this time, which is why he's sitting cross-legged on the bed, with the page of instructions on a pillow next to him, trying to figure them out. Dyslexia's a fucking bitch most of the time, but right now, he's about ready to strangle her. The letters will just not settle down into the right words. Biting his lip, he closes his eyes and tries again. This time, he focuses on the pictures and ignores the text. 

It takes him far too long, but eventually the clips are attached to the headboard securely enough that Tommy's not worried that Isaac will pull them loose. Or the headboard for that matter. Isaac's a lot stronger than he looks, as Tommy knows damn well. 

An hour later, just as Tommy's snagging a well-earned bottle of PBR from the fridge, Isaac blows into the apartment with a grin on his face and a plain white shopping bag dangling from one hand. 

"Hey," Tommy says, coming out to stand in the archway between the kitchen and living room. He's about to shove his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual, when Isaac comes up and kisses him. 

"Hey," Isaac says, smile bright and wide. "You totally love me." 

"Of course, I do. You're awesome. Any particular reason today?"

"Because I scored us some Katsu-ya. They're doing this half-price happy hour thing to celebrate their anniversary, and they threw in a free sample of this new roll they're testing out."

"You're right," Tommy says, "I totally love you." 

Isaac's bright laughter goes straight to Tommy's dick. Tommy hasn't any idea how that fucking happened either. When did happiness become a turn on? He distracts himself from finding the answer to that question by saying, "I'll grab the soy and a PBR for you." 

They settle on the floor in the living room, backs resting against the couch. Isaac stretches his legs out under the coffee table, and Tommy crosses his. The sushi is better than good, as always. They've only eaten a few pieces when Isaac stabs Tommy's fingers with his chopsticks. 

"Dude, that is _my_ piece of salmon skin roll," Isaac mock-snarls. "You already had three."

"Is not," Tommy says, batting at Isaac's chopsticks, even though he knows it totally is.

"Is too." 

"Not."

"Is."

"Not." 

Tommy sticks out his tongue at Isaac, and Isaac starts laughing so hard that he fumbles his chopsticks. Taking total advantage, Tommy snags the piece of salmon skin roll and dunks it in his soy-wasabi mix. 

"Not fair," Isaac complains, and Tommy places the sushi against Isaac's open mouth. Isaac's lips round into an "oh" and his body goes lax.

"Bite down," Tommy says.

Isaac obeys immediately, biting the sushi in half. After Isaac swallows, Tommy dips the remaining half of the roll in soy-wasabi and feeds it to Isaac. They fall into a routine after that. Isaac helps himself occasionally, but mostly Tommy feeds him. The new roll turns out to be a shitake mushroom tempura thing that they put right on their list of faves, even though it's lost most of its crunch already.

When they kiss, Tommy licks into Isaac's mouth. He tastes sweet and hot from the unagi sauce and the extra wasabi that he asked Tommy to put on his sushi, and Tommy wants nothing more than to lay him out on their bed. Not now though, he tells himself. Not when they're both so full. Instead he pushes the coffee table out of the way and straddles Isaac's thighs. 

"Tomorrow," Tommy says, "we're spending the day at home."

"Oh?"

Tommy can feel Isaac's dick filling, getting hard. "Yeah. Got some shit in the mail today, and we're going to give them a whirl. Time to see what you can handle." 

The noise that comes out of Isaac's mouth jolts through Tommy like a shot of electricity. He places his hands on either side of Isaac's face, his thumbs resting against Isaac's jaw, and he turns their lazy kisses into something more possessive. _Mine_ , he presses into Isaac's lower lip with his teeth. 

Isaac's fingers flex against Tommy's hips, and a shudder goes through him. 

Resting his forehead against Isaac's, Tommy promises, "Tomorrow."

"Tease," Isaac says. 

"No way," Tommy says. "I'm going to keep that promise in spades." 

"Not what I meant." 

"You were the one who brought sushi home, dude. No one to blame but yourself." 

Isaac looks like he's going to protest, but then his forehead creases and he sighs. "Hate that you're right."

"I know." Tommy straightens up. "Come on. Let's get comfy."

A few minutes later, the takeout boxes are in the trash and the TV is playing some movie that Isaac picked. Tommy doesn't really care what it is. His entire focus is on Isaac, on making out with him. He kisses him, is kissed by him with long licks and sweeps of their tongues. They rock against each other in lazy movements, stroke and pet and caress with gentle touches that start an ache growing inside Tommy. Eventually Tommy wraps his hand around their dicks and begins a slow slide that has Isaac rolling his hips and muttering words that make no sense into Tommy's skin.

And when they finally come within seconds of each other, Tommy swallows Isaac's moan and holds him tightly. He's not sure he can put a name to the way he feels. He just knows that he doesn't want to let go.

_It's tomorrow_. The words are on the tip of Isaac's tongue as he sits cross-legged at the end of the bed and watches Tommy sleep. He can't wake Tommy up. Just can't bring himself to do it. Not when Tommy's finally sleeping after so many nights of being up and down. It would be cruel, unfair, and —

 _Fuck, there are clips hanging from the headboard_. They fill Isaac's field of vision, dry his mouth out completely, and leave his dick and his throat aching. He hasn't a clue how he missed them last night. And Isaac wants so badly, needs the grounding, to be held in his body, pushed down and down and down until he's free.

Realizing that he's reaching for Tommy, about to touch Tommy's leg, Isaac pulls his hand back. He can't do this. He needs Tommy, but it has to be when Tommy's ready. Has to be, or this won't work.

Trying not to jostle the mattress too much, Isaac slides off the bed as quietly as he can. Tommy snuffles an almost-snore and curls a little tighter, but he doesn't wake up. 

"Coffee," Isaac whispers, as he pulls the door closed behind him. "I need coffee." 

In the kitchen, he shuffles over to the stove and reaches for the kettle. He makes it over to the sink before the stink of last night's sushi hits him. "Ugh," he mutters. "That has got to go."

He sets the kettle on the tile counter and reaches beneath the sink to get the trash. The smell is even worse when he opens the door to the cabinet under the sink. He does _not_ want to be smelling it when Tommy—

At the thought, the image of what's going to happen when Tommy wakes up, Isaac fumbles the trash, knocking over the can and dropping the lid and the bag. 

"Shit!" The word seems incredibly loud in the small room, much louder than the crashing of the plastic can against the floor. 

Isaac holds himself still, listening, then releases a breath when there's no sound from the bedroom. He doesn't want to wake Tommy up. Not really. Not even if it means that he'll get what he wants, what he needs, now instead of later. 

Getting rid of the trash takes up a few minutes, and washing his hands a couple more. Isaac checks the clock on the stove when he's back in the kitchen. He blinks at it, stares down at the kettle, and remembers that he was going to make coffee. Except they don't have any beans that are ground. He stares at the bags in the freezer. Their coffee grinder is so loud. It would definitely wake Tommy up. Then again, he needs coffee and Tommy would absolutely understand that. He reaches for the almost empty bag of Peaberry and is at the point where he's ready to press start when he hesitates. 

It's one thing to forget and end up waking someone up with it, but to do it on purpose... Isaac doesn't think he could lie about that, and he wants to be cherished not punished. With a sigh, he lifts his hand away from the coffee grinder and walks out of the kitchen before he can change his mind. 

He settles on the couch in the living room, picks up the latest copy of _Drum!_ from the side table. The pictures are pretty, the cymbals and drums make him even more aware of the rhythm-less beat that's thrumming beneath his skin. His fingers start tapping against the slick paper. Fast, slow, and then faster again, until his breathing has sped up and he's panting for breath. 

Tossing the magazine aside, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He can't think, can't concentrate. "What the fuck am I going to do?"

"Don't know what you're going to do, but I know what you should've done." 

Isaac raises his head and looks up at Tommy, who's standing on the other side of the coffee table from him with his arms folded over his chest. 

"Sorry," Isaac says, because that's all he can manage while his mind is whirling around the ideas that he said that out loud and that Tommy is awake. 

"Never let me sleep through your need," Tommy says. He'd look stern, but his hair is sticking up in every direction and his eyes crinkle when he tries not to yawn. 

"Sor—" Isaac cuts himself off when Tommy arches an eyebrow. "Coffee?" he asks instead.

Tommy scrubs a hand over his face and nods. "Fuck, I love you." 

"You love everyone who offers you coffee," Isaac says, pushing himself up from the couch. 

"Not true." Tommy shuffles almost zombie-like towards the kitchen. "Nothing could make me like some people, not even coffee."

Isaac follows Tommy to the kitchen. "We have some of that organic fair trade Peaberry left," he says. 

"Hell yeah." Tommy perches on the counter and yawns, belatedly covering his mouth. 

Once Isaac has the kettle on and the French press set up and waiting, he goes over and leans up against Tommy. "Need you," he says. 

Tommy's answer is to spread his legs, pull Isaac between them, and wrap his arms around him. It's enough to ease the frantic uncoordinated beat thrumming through Isaac. For now.

Steam follows Tommy out of the shower. He grabs a towel and dries himself off. Slowly, one limb at a time, because he needs to think. This is fucking it. When he walks into the bedroom, he's finally going to take Isaac down deep and bring him back out again. He won't do what Ravi did, he knows that, but he can't help worrying that he won't be able to give Isaac what he needs.

He scrubs the towel over his hair before tossing it over the shower rod and turning to the mirror. "Fuck performance anxiety," he tells his reflection. "Just play him like a guitar, and like, everything will be fine."

Tommy's reflection sticks its tongue out at him, and he makes a face at it. Then he snorts with laughter. He's such a fucking dork sometimes. 

He shakes his head and then runs his fingers through his hair, combing it into some kind of shape. The side needs shaving again, but he's not going to do it right now. He's done enough delaying. Taking a deep breath, he walks out of the bathroom and down the hall to the open bedroom door.

The view from there takes Tommy's breath away, has his dick going from vaguely curious to oh-hell-yeah in an eye-blink. He walks into the room, one step at a time, hoping there isn't any kind of shit between him and the bed, because there's no way he's fucking taking his eyes off Isaac. 

When his toes hit the bedcovers that are folded on the floor at the bottom of the bed, Tommy pauses. Stepping over the covers, he gets up on the bed. He wraps his right hand around Isaac's left ankle, and he keeps on looking.

Isaac is lying in the middle of the bed. His legs are spread enough to show the shadow of his ass. His hands are up over his head, stretched out. He's wrapped the length of rope attached to each of the rings around his wrists and looks like he's holding on for dear life. 

As soon as Tommy touches him, fine shivers run up and down Isaac's body and Isaac's dick gets even harder. 

"Moeller," Isaac says.

Tommy smiles. "I remember." Releasing Isaac's ankle, Tommy crawls up his body. He moves slowly, angling his body so his dick drags up the inside of Isaac's left leg and over his hip. When his dick grazes Isaac's, the surge of _want-need_ almost overwhelms him. He takes a deep breath and sits back. He's on his knees, Isaac's thighs under his ass. So fucking warm and strong that Tommy knows neither of them is going to last too long this time. Their first time. 

"Tommy?" Isaac shifts up onto his elbows. A thread of worry creases his brow, and Tommy can't stop himself from reaching forward to smooth it away.

"Ground rules," Tommy says. "I want your sounds, not your words today. You want me to stop everything, you use Moeller. You just want me to pause so we can talk about whatever I'm doing that's making you uncomfortable, just say Axe."

"Moeller," Isaac repeats, "and Axe. I can do that." 

Reaching forward, Tommy runs a finger down the center of Isaac's chest from throat to belly button. "I'm going to blindfold you this time, but I want you to hear everything, all the music I'm going to make with your body." 

The groan that comes out of Isaac vibrates through him, so deeply that Tommy can feel it where their bodies are touching. He climbs off Isaac and moves up the bed. The ropes are good. Tommy considers knotting them around Isaac's wrists, but decides to let them go for now. Isaac can set this part of the scene.

Isaac sighs when Tommy tugs on the ropes, tightening them a little, and Tommy can't help kissing him. He sucks Isaac's lower lip into his mouth, scrapes his teeth over it, licks into his mouth. He could spend hours tasting every part of Isaac, Tommy thinks, as he drags his lips down Isaac's jaw and nips, sucks, kisses his way down Isaac's neck.

The noise that comes out of Isaac's throat when Tommy sucks a red mark up on his collarbone is incoherent and so fucking glorious that Tommy does it again and again. Hard and soft, sometimes the redness fades almost immediately, sometimes he leaves toothmarks in deeper red. And he keeps doing it until Isaac is panting, arching up into every touch of Tommy's mouth. 

It's almost too much, the way Isaac reacts to his touch, to the small pains that Tommy's inflicting. Tommy has to pull away. He leaves one hand touching Isaac's chest and reaches behind himself for the items he tucked into the drawer of the nightstand. 

"Ghost notes," Tommy says, dangling the flogger over Isaac's belly, moving it until one of the knots fills the indent of his belly button. "And grace notes. I'm gonna bring them to life on your skin."

Isaac sucks in an audible breath and presses his lips together. Tommy lays the flogger out over Isaac's skin and leans forward. "All your sounds," he says, "or I'll stop, no matter what we're doing."

And when Isaac releases a noise that races through Tommy with more heat than a shot of good whiskey, Tommy settles the blindfold over Isaac's eyes.

The blindfold is soft, dark and feels like velvet. Isaac blinks, as much as he can, then he settles. He can feel Tommy moving around on the bed and settling between his legs, pushing them further apart. The tips of the flogger drag over his skin, chest to belly, dick to thighs. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and his hair prickles and lifts. A shudder runs through him and comes out of his mouth as a moan, a beg, a plea.

 _Please,_ he thinks, and then moans again when Tommy runs the flogger back up to his throat. 

It tickles and it teases and it's so fucking not enough. 

Then Tommy lifts the flogger up off Isaac's skin and brings it back down again. It's a flick, a bite. Not enough to welt or bruise. Isaac arches into it, trying to show Tommy how much he wants it. There's another stroke, across his nipples, over his ribs, his collarbone, catching the edge of his hipbone. Unpredictable, not a beat Isaac recognizes, no matter how hard his brain tries to match it to the music in his memory, no matter how he tries to anticipate it. 

Sometimes the next stroke is immediate. Sometimes the pause between stretches out and out and out, until Isaac's straining for it. His hands tighten on the ropes, and fibers press into his fingers, his palms, giving him a series of small spiky pains, counterpoints to Tommy's teasing. 

There's a pause, a fermata, long enough for Isaac to relax, not long enough to be counted as a rest, and then Tommy starts again. 

This time there's music in the beats. Soft and slow at first, dancing over Isaac's body, stealing his breath, making him moan and groan, writhe and twist. Then harder and faster, rising to a crescendo, resting for a beat or two, and then falling down into an almost gentle decrescendo. 

Isaac's entire body falls into the rhythm. His breathing, his heartbeat, the flex of his fingers and the curl of his toes, the thrum of his blood through his veins. A knot dances over the soft skin of his underarm. An eighth draws heat to his left hip.

The whole time, Tommy keeps on talking. He says words that are heavy with caring, that press against Isaac's skin and sink into him. He touches Isaac's dick, squeezes and releases it, between strokes, in time to strokes. Beat and counterbeat, fast and slow, until Isaac knows nothing but his own body, his need, his love, his craving. He arches back, rolls his hips up, showing off his need. 

The flogger rests. Tommy lays it across Isaac's chest, curving it like a necklace, and Isaac moans with the loss, with the gain of it. 

"I've got you," Tommy whispers into Isaac's ear, his breath touching the cartilage, and Isaac can only respond with a short sharp syllable of want. His words are gone, long gone. 

"Need this too," Tommy says, as he moves away. There's a strange noise, a crackle that Isaac can't place, and Tommy runs a hand over Isaac's dick, slides something else down it. 

And then, before Isaac is able to so much as think, Tommy straddles Isaac's hips and sinks down onto his dick. 

Isaac cries out and thrusts upward. He digs his toes into the mattress and clutches at the rope. He babbles. Not words, possibly not even syllables. Everything, every part of him, is aware of Tommy surrounding him, riding him, taking him, pressing on bruises and welts, marking him and owning him. 

And when he comes, when the beat inside him rises and rises and fucking rises so high and so fast that it pulses from his body, Isaac's body convulses and the world fades away.

Tommy comes back from the bathroom with a warm, wet facecloth in one hand and a towel in the other. A couple of drops of water slide down his legs as he stands next to the bed and stares at Isaac, taking in the red and purple, the bruises and welts that litter Isaac's body. His gaze traces the slight indentation from the blindfold, the slight chafing around Isaac's wrists from the ropes, and the white stripes that mark where Tommy came on him.

Isaac's eyes are closed, and he looks more peaceful than Tommy can ever remember seeing him. 

"Mine," Tommy says. 

He gently cleans Isaac up. When Isaac's skin is dry, Tommy tosses the facecloth and towel in the direction of the laundry basket and brings the sheet and comforter up to cover Isaac. After checking to make sure there's water in the bottle on the nightstand, Tommy slides into bed and pulls Isaac into his arms.

Murmuring something too quietly for Tommy to understand, Isaac rolls over. He slides a leg between Tommy's and presses his face into Tommy's shoulder. 

Tommy kisses the top of Isaac's head and rubs circles into his back. "You were so damn good," he says, quietly and gently. "Thank you for the gifts you gave me tonight. Like every single one of them. Every sound and every movement."

"I did okay?" Isaac's voice is small, and his hand trembles against Tommy's side. 

"Totally awesome," Tommy says. "The best ever." 

The fine tension that's thrumming through Isaac's body goes away, and he relaxes completely.

They lie there for a few minutes. Isaac's weight and the heat of his body are exactly what Tommy needs as he waits to be sure that Isaac is okay. He wants reassurance that what he did was good for Isaac, but Isaac's too close to subspace to answer that question right now. And that, Tommy thinks, smiling against Isaac's hair, is probably the only answer he needs or is going to get. Still, he needs more.

"Hey," Tommy says. 

Isaac raises his head and blinks at Tommy sleepily. 

"You all right?" 

"Mmhmm," Isaac hums and nods. He shifts himself upward and presses an almost chaste, closed-mouth kiss against Tommy's lips. "So good," he says. "I'm gonna feel your love for a while."

"Yeah." Tommy hugs Isaac tightly. "Me too."

**Epilogue**

The worst thing about cell phones, Tommy thinks, is that you can't slam the phone down when you're done. Ending the call, even when he cuts someone off mid "later" doesn't give him anywhere near the same satisfaction. He tosses his phone on the coffee table, watching it slide off the other side, and slumps back into the couch. Just because it's the right thing doesn't mean he likes it. The last thing he needs is to listen to his mom go on about getting a real job again. The call center had almost killed him that one time he'd tried.

"Ravi called you too, huh?"

Isaac's standing in the doorway. His hair is still shower-damp, and his cut-off sweats are so low on his hips that Tommy's eyes are drawn to the curls of hair that are peeking over the frayed waistband. A sigh from Isaac finally pulls his gaze upwards. 

"He's right," Isaac says. "It's not working. We can't keep playing together. It's just too damn hard." Isaac pauses, clearly wanting to say something else before he adds, "I'm sorry."

There's a second when all Tommy can do is stare at Isaac, wondering what the fuck he's apologizing for. Then the word "Idiot" spills from Tommy's mouth before he can come up with something better. 

"Asshole." Isaac makes a face at him, and Tommy relaxes.

"Yeah." Relief makes Tommy smile. "That's me. I'm like the world's biggest asshole." 

"Well, maybe not the biggest." Isaac smiles back. "You've got a bit more growing to do before you can manage that." 

Bursting into laughter, Tommy gives him the finger.

But then Isaac pauses on his way across the room to pick up Tommy's phone, and his smile disappears as he looks at it. "We've got enough in the bank to get us through the next couple of months if we're careful," he says. "And, once we get the word out, we'll get work, even if it's not in the same band."

Tommy's mood takes another nosedive at that thought. He likes working with Isaac, damn it. 

"Hey, we'll figure it out," Isaac says as he sits down on the couch. 

Letting Isaac pull him into his arms, Tommy half lays on top of him. "Yeah," he says. "Hopefully before we run out of money." 

"You could get more doom and gloom."

"Maybe." Wanting to change the subject, Tommy hooks an arm around Isaac's neck and half-raises himself, half-drags Isaac down into an awkwardly gentle and lingering kiss. "Mike still hasn't rented out my room, you know. Worst thing that happens is that we, like, give this place up and move in there." 

Isaac wrinkles his nose. "Nash is a pig. Leaves his shit all over the place." 

"He's a guy." Tommy has no idea why he's defending Mike. The dude's messier than anyone else in the house, and that's saying something, given who else lives there.

"Point." Shifting until he can put his feet up on the coffee table, Isaac slides a hand into Tommy's hair. His fingertips tickle the shaved side, and Tommy turns his head into Isaac's belly to nuzzle at the soft skin.

Tommy's licking the jut of Isaac's hipbone, tasting Isaac, and sliding his hand inside Isaac's sweats, when the landline rings. He stops and looks up, meets Isaac's heavy-lidded gaze. "Should we—" he gets out before the answering machine picks up.

"You there? Isaac? Tommy?" Devin's voice comes over the tinny speaker. "If you are, get your asses to the phone now. Got something for you." He pauses and continues with, "Come on. Stop fucking around. This guy won't wait long." 

As Devin rambles on, Isaac scrambles out from under Tommy and lunges for the phone. Tommy has to grab for the edge of the coffee table with one hand to stop himself from rolling to the floor.

"We're here," Isaac says. "What's up?" He leans back against the wall as Devin talks into his ear. He nods occasionally, but doesn't say a damn thing that lets Tommy know what's got Devin all excited.

"I'll talk to Tommy, but I can tell you right now that we're both interested." Isaac listens for a bit longer, nodding again, and then says, "Okay, yeah, we'll check email as soon as I hang up."

Tommy's up and off the couch at that and heading for his backpack, which is on its side by the front door.

"Thanks, man," Isaac says, giving Tommy a thumbs-up. "Seriously, this is awesome news. It couldn't have come at a better time."

By the time Isaac hangs up, Tommy's back on the couch. His ancient laptop is on the coffee table, booting up, and he's hoping that it doesn't blue screen on him this time. "A job?" he asks.

"Maybe." Isaac sits down next to him and leans into him. "Auditions for a pop singer's backing band. Adam Lambert?" 

"Huh? Seriously?" Tommy pokes at the keyboard and waits for his laptop to connect to the wifi. "I almost auditioned for him a couple of years back. Right about the time you introduced me to Ravi. Decided that, like, lead guitar was better than playing rhythm again or trying to learn bass in a couple of days." 

"Probably not the smartest decision you've ever made," Isaac says, with a wry smile. 

Bumping his shoulder into Isaac's, Tommy says, "Not complaining, you know. I wouldn't be here if I'd done anything differently."

That gives him an armful of Isaac. They sit back, bringing Tommy's laptop with them, and kiss while they wait for his laptop to do shit.  



End file.
